


Black Gold

by CalumSmiles (dreamforlife)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Uh..., god help me, idk guys, this is the first time ive done this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamforlife/pseuds/CalumSmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know,” he hears as he stuffs his socks haphazardly into a drawer without balling them up, “You could just tell him to stop.”</p><p>Michael stops long enough to glare at Ashton before shoving the drawer closed with his hip and moving onto fold his shirts. Because telling Luke to stop would be admitting that it was getting to him. And Michael doesn’t do confessions. </p><p>~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>Or, basically, Luke is a tease and Michael wants to kiss him, amongst other things, into next week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Uh...so I cracked...
> 
> This is the first time I've written anything like this so if it's bad, just tell me in the comments >_

It was funny, really, how invested the fans were in his hair and it never seized to amaze Michael how torn up they were between him dying it every colour under the sun and wanting to force him into a salon chair and deep condition his hair until it could be pulled back from the brink of death and stop crying out for help.

What funnier, however, was _Luke’s_ investment in the whole thing. He pretended not care, he really did, when Michael went off and bleached it blonde without telling him and then the whole black-and-white-but-somehow-turned-blue debacle happened and Luke had sulked for a couple of hours. Not that Luke ever said anything; it was silent and blatant but apparently supposed to be subtle glaring at the top of Michael’s head.

Michael grinned at himself in the mirror as he worked the black dye through his hair. The fans were going to combust (because he’s been seeing the dark-haired Michael obsession on Twitter) and Luke was going to kill him because he didn’t know.

There was a pounding on the door and Ashton’s annoyed grumble filtered through the wood.

“You coming out of there anytime soon?”

“The other bathroom is right down the hall, bro, it’s gonna take you like ten steps,” Michael said in lieu of an answer, because he’s going to be in here for a while, and dabbed at his hair with the applicator at a patch of blue-grey.

Ashton seems to whack his head on the door with a pained groan. “Luke’s flooded the damn thing and honestly we might as well just make it the second swimming pool.”

“Why don’t you go and make him clean up?” Michael gets dye on his ear and he winces, putting the bottle on the counter and picking up a swab of hydrogen peroxide and wiping it off hurriedly. “He listens to you.”

“Oh sure he does. _Luke, stop flooding the fucking bathroom. Yeah, sorry Ashton. Luke, the fucking bathroom. Sorry, bro, I tried.”_ Ashton mocks, voice slightly muffled as if he’s turned away and is leaning against the door in defeat. “He’s a little baby that’s been put into a bathtub for the first time and splashes water all over the fucking place.”

Michael snorts, straining his neck as he checks for missed spots. “Alright, that’s true.” When Ashton mutters something pitifully outside, he sighs with a chuckle. “If I let you in, will you keep your mouth shut?”

“I’ll make you breakfast,” The drummer groans gratefully. “I’ll even give you three pieces of bacon.”

He falls into the bathroom when Michael opens the door and immediately shuts and locks it behind him.

“Not a _word_ to the others,” He says with a grin at a gaping Ashton, “Your mouth stays shut. I know, go find Bryana so your mouth is occupied and you’ll be less likely to blab.”

Ashton stands up straighter, eyes drifting over the gloopy slick of his dye-covered hair, and a sly smile pokes dimples into his cheeks. “Oh, Luke is going to _murder_ your addicted arse. What is that, four colours in the past four months?”

“Shut _up,”_ Michael snaps without heat, “Now, pee or whatever, and check my hair and then _go,_ unless you want to stay and keep me company for the next forty minutes.”

He averts his eyes as Ashton heads for the toilet with a roll of his eyes, throwing out the dye covered gloves and picking up his phone to change the song.

As Fall Out Boy pours out of the speakers, Michael leans on the counter and studies his reflection. His thoughts drift to Luke, and that in itself isn’t a surprise, but the general direction of kissing and other explicitly rated things is relatively new. As in, past few months new. But it’s the general trend of the dark hair, probably…Michael has a vague recollection that Luke had been particularly handsy with his dark hair a few years back and something aches in his stomach.

“You know Luke probably feels the same way, right?”

He jumps out of his skin at the sound of Ashton’s voice and his hand presses over his heart as he spins around. “ _Fuck.”_

Ashton washes his hands at the sink with an amused smile. He raises an eyebrow as he wipes his hands. “You’re so transparent.”

“What—I didn’t—I think you hit your head when you fell over last night,” Michael turns away to fiddle with his phone as a blush burns down the back of his neck.

A snort comes from Ashton. “Your confidence in me is astounding, really, I’m flattered.” His voice softens. “You’ve been giving him heart eyes for years, Mike.”

 _God, was he obvious? Was he obvious that he couldn’t even hide a crush from his best friends for more than a month? Shit, does_ Luke _know? Wait—_

“ _Years?”_ Michael gapes at the grinning drummer. “I’ve only—it’s been a few _months!_ Not years…what the fuck, Ashton?”

Shaking his head in sympathy, Ashton moves towards the door but Michael catches a glimpse of the knowing smile.

“What’s the look for?” He exclaims, throwing out a hand to grip Ashton’s bicep. His frustration grows when Ashton just grins wider. _“What?”_

“Mike. Mate.” Ashton says, reaching up to pat his cheek. “Michael, you poor, oblivious soul. Even the fans can see your heart eyes. Actually, I’m pretty sure your heart eyes can be seen from _Mars.”_

Michael splutters.

“Seriously, you’re going to tell me you didn’t know you’ve had a boner for Luke since the beginning of time and space?” Ashton asks and there’s something that sounds like actual _surprise_ in his voice.

“ _No!”_ Michael hisses, throwing his arms up, “I’ve been… _thinking_ for a few months but—it’s not—did you say _years?_ How could you have known for _years,_ Ashton?”

Ashton steps back from the door, a grin curling across his mouth. He crosses his arms then and leans a hip against the counter, something indulgent settling in his eyes. Michael squirms under his gaze.

“I always assumed that it had something to do with why you hated him in year nine,” He says quietly, “That you didn’t know what it was or you didn’t want to, so you chalked it down to hatred.”

Michael snorts. “No. No, I really did hate his guts. I thought he was going to take Calum from me,” he admits with a sheepish laugh, “I dunno…”

“Dumbass,” Ashton says fondly, “And here you are, almost four years later with a crush the size of Russia.”

“Alright, alright, no need to announce it,” Michael grouches with a scowl. “I don’t need the world knowing I’ve become a sappy, rom-com cliché.”

Ashton laughs aloud at that and it echoes around the bathroom. “Michael Clifford; resident punk rocker turned Hollywood romantic cliché by falling for his best friend. Ooh, careful Mikey, you might get kicked out of the Punk Rock Hall of Fame.”

He shoves Ashton with a screwed up face, groaning in shame. “Get the fuck out and make my breakfast, you absolutely terrible excuse of a friend.”

Ashton tumbles out in a fit of laughter. Michael slams the door for good measure and strips grumpily before he jumps into the shower.

He hates this band.

 

*

 

Almost forty minutes later, Michael’s just finished drying his new hair and it’s sitting in fluffy strands styled on his head, jet black under the lights.

He grins as he tugs on jeans and white shirt, nodding at himself in the mirror.

“Alright Michael,” he mutters as he unlocks the door, “Time to face the music.”

The sound of voices and laughter drifts up from the kitchen and Michael heads towards it, an absurd ball of nerves coiling in his stomach and he ignores the way the tiny voice in his head leers at him because he’s _nervous_ about Luke’s reaction.

“Michael!” Ashton exclaims in faux-surprise when he walks in. An immediate grin lights up his face. “Shit, bro, you look hot.”

Calum and Luke spin around on their bar stools, jaws dropping.

“That’s why you spent two hours in the bathroom!” Calum says with a grin, “Ash is right, man, you look hot. The fans are going to eat you up.”

Michael ruffles a hand through his fringe and grins. “Thanks. Personally I think—”

“You dyed it black.”

Luke is staring at him like he’s been clubbed over the head with a mace, eyes wide and stunned, and Michael winks at him.

“I’ve had an overwhelming request for black lately,” he says as he slips into the empty seat beside Calum. “Ashton. Where is my bacon, slave?”

Ashton snorts, taking the pan off the stove and shoving three sizzling strips of bacon onto his plate. “Call me that again and you’ll be eating broccoli for the next three months.”

“Thank you, Ashton,” Michael beams until Ashton shoves at his face in exasperated amusement.

“I can’t believe you dyed it black,” Luke says. He still sounds like he’s not breathing and Michael frowns.

“I…you don’t like it?”

Luke startles and leans forward around Calum. “No, man…it looks good!”

“Just good?” Michael teases, sucking on his thumb when he burns in on the bacon. “Not ‘hot’?”

Luke rolls his eyes. “You don’t need me telling you that you look hot.”

“Actually, your opinion is the one I value the most, Hemmo1996.”

Calum grumbles something that sounds vaguely like, _“Please take the foreplay into the bedroom,”_ and Ashton whacks him over the head with a tea towel.

Michael laughs as something locks in his chest.

“Yeah right, you do,” Luke grumbles and the pout on his face intensifies into that of a small child, “Just like you’ve asked my valued opinion the past four times you’ve dyed your damn hair.”

Ashton coos at him and reaches to poke his dimpled cheek. “Aw, s’okay baby Wuke. Michael still wuves you.”

This time Michael whips the tea towel at Ashton’s face but he manages to catch him in the eye.

“ _OW, for fuck’s sake, Michael!”_ Ashton howls, cupping a hand over his tearing eye and glaring, “ _The fuck was that for?!”_

Michael grimaces in apology but feels somewhat justified. “Sorry, bro.”

Ashton grabs Calum’s fussing hands and drags him towards the stairs. “Leave the two fuckers alone with their sexual tension, Cal. You and me, we’re going to do something _without_ all that UST clogging our noses.”

“Sure, brilliant idea, sounds awesome,” Calum rambles as he follows, throwing a glance over his shoulder and catching Michael’s glowering eyes.

He scowls at a grinning Calum.

When he turns back around, Luke is staring at him. Like, flat out staring at him. Michael scratches the back of his neck.

“So…”

Luke takes a few steps forward, reaching towards Michael’s hair before he teeters to a stop like he suddenly realises what he’s doing. His hand drops and he sucks on his bottom lip. Michael can’t help but grin because fucking hell, Luke is a ridiculous noodle-legged breadstick.

“You can touch my hair, bro, not like you haven’t done it before,” he says, tongue in cheek, and lets out laugh when Luke frowns around a pout.

“Shut up, you arsehole.” Luke slopes up to him, sinking his fingers into the fringe and messing it up. “You’re going to kill your hair.”

Michael watches Luke through his eyelashes, studies the annoyed fondness that gives way to slight concern before it dips into an expression that he can’t read. He smiles, a tiny affectionate thing that slips away as quickly as it comes when Luke’s fingers settle his hair back into place, brushing the pads of his fingers across his forehead as he removes his hand.

He entertains the idea of kissing him, of pressing his mouth to Luke’s parted lips and stealing away his next breath, of tangling his fingers in the soft yellow gold strands of Luke’s hair and pushing him against the kitchen counter, of lifting him onto the counter and stepping between his legs, but he snaps out of it when Luke makes an aborted noise.

“You’re just pissed that you didn’t dye it for me,” he whispers instead, thanking the punk rock gods that his breathing is steady while his heart races, and snorts when Luke steps away from him with a grumpy look, “Aren’t you?”

Luke shrugs. “No…I just like knowing.”

“Sorry,” Michael pats Luke’s shoulder as he passes by him to get to his bacon, “Next time. Promise.”

“You said that last time.”

Michael turns around with a real frown at the serious tone, catching wide blue eyes. “If you really do wanna know, ‘course I’ll tell you.”

“Well then,” Luke grins wide, his entire face transforming into something close to actual sunshine in a split second, and steals the strip of bacon out of Michael’s hand, “Thank you.”

He saunters out the door and Michael’s left behind blinking after him, realising with a horrified certainty that he’d just been played by Luke’s _baby brother_ act.

_Shit._

He hates Luke _._

 _‘Cept you really don’t,_ the little voice snorts from the back of his mind, _like, you don’t hate him so much that you want to bone him into next week._

Michael wants to throw something at the voice but well he can’t can he, because it’s his own damn brain.

*

 

“I’m bisexual.”

It slips out of Michael’s mouth in the middle of a conversation (about _sex,_ to say the least), easy and languid as if he’s admitting to eating ice cream at midnight straight from the tub.

He stills as silence falls, messing with his dark hair, eyes flickering to Calum. Calum just snorts and flashes him a thumbs up. Michael swallows a laugh because of course Calum had already known.

Ashton raises an eyebrow when he looks at him. “So, does this mean you are attracted to me and finally admitting your preferences for dick because you want mine?”

Michael throws a bottle cap at his face. “I wouldn’t fuck you even if you were the last guy on earth.”

“Please, you know you would,” Ashton stretches out the length of his torso, tucking his hands behind his head with an easy grin, “You’d be all up in this.”

“Ashton, I don’t know how to break this nicely,” Michael says dryly, “but I’m not into blonde Australian drummers.”

Luke makes a sound between a cough and a laugh and Michael turns to him with his heart somewhere near his throat and a smirk on his face.

“So you’re into blonde Australians if they’re not drummers?” Luke asks with a teasing grin as he flops to his side and tucks his chin into his hands.

Michael rolls his eyes as he screams a resounding _YES YOU COMPLETE FUCKER_ inwardly. He lets out a puff of air when Calum cuddles into his side, a solid warm length of tanned boy, smelling like chlorine and sunscreen.

“Fuck you guys,” he says lazily, his head pillowed on Michael’s shoulder, “He wants me and you all know it.”

And he really loves Calum, doesn’t he. Thank god for Calum Hood.

He doesn’t realise he’s grinning fondly at Calum until Luke makes a disgruntled sound and Michael looks up into time to see him curl into Ashton in a wet lump on the pool chair.

“Love me,” he whines and Michael hides a helpless smile in Calum’s hair.

Ashton grunts but folds an arm around Luke, “Baby.”

“You’re just jealous that I get Michael to myself,” Calum murmurs, snuggling further into Michael. “He’s warm and soft and cuddly and Ashton’s like a wall of rock.”

Michael laughs and pats Calum’s hip but his half closed eyes are resting on Luke and admittedly, _he’s_ the one who’s jealous. Calum squeezes his arm.

“Fuck you, Calum.” Ashton mutters, “My cuddles are loved by everyone.”

“You mean Luke, but that’s only ‘cos he doesn’t know better.”

“This is why I love Calum,” Michael murmurs cheerfully amidst Luke’s outraged protests. “Malum af.”

Luke turns puppy eyes on Ashton who sighs long-sufferingly and pats Luke’s arm. “Lashton for life.”

“Your opinion is irrelevant, mate.”

Michael grins and bumps his knuckles with Calum in a lazy fist-bump.

 

*

 

He’s going crazy. He’s going to be admitted into a psychiatric ward before he reaches twenty.

No, seriously.

Michael is actually going to lose his fucking _mind_ if Luke doesn’t stop fellating _every_ _goddamn_ phallic food in sight.

At this point, it’s not even a question of whether Luke knows about Michael’s crush. It’s more that he’s waiting for Michael to crack and get angry and pissy so Luke can laugh about it. He regrets ever telling anyone about his bisexuality.

It’s fucking _obscene,_ is what it is.

Michael scrolls through his twitter feed, angry and aroused in equal measure, jaw clenched as he tries his hardest to ignore the way Luke is sucking on a red popsicle, cheeks hollowed and lips stained red. The cushion in his lap is heaven-sent because his dick is straining against the material of his sweats and he feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin.

He glances up for a split second, becausehe’s _weak_ alright, and he catches the gleam in Luke’s dark blue eyes as he quite literally deep throats the fucking popsicle. Michael almost chokes, tearing his eyes away and back to his phone which thankfully lights up with a text to distract him from the sight.

_From Calum:_

_Bro…is it just me or is Luke trying to suck off a popsicle…_

Michael snorts and because he’s desperate as fuck to get to a bathroom and take care of himself, he unashamedly texts a plea.

_To Calum:_

_I can’t fucking get up. I’ll do your damn laundry for a week if you take him and get the fuck out of the house._

He hears a cough cover up Calum’s splutter of laughter from across the lounge and can’t help the frustrated blush that burns down his neck and heats his ears.

“Luke, I need your opinion on something,” Calum says after what seems like an eternity to Michael and gets to his feet. “C’mon, bring your makeshift dildo, let’s go.”

Michael fervently keeps his eyes on his phone…or not.

He looks up just as Luke slides the popsicle out of his mouth and licks across his lips with an unashamed grin.

“Where’re we going?” He asks as he lurches to his feet like the six foot tall giant he is, “Is this about your considerable lack of t-shirts because you haven’t done your laundry?”

Calum rolls his eyes. “Just because you’re a manipulative baby and bat your eyelashes to get Ashton to do yours for you doesn’t mean you can insult me, arsehole. Get your butt moving.”

Luke flashes an innocent smile at Michael as he slips out the door, waving the popsicle like a salute.

It takes Michael less than ten seconds to leg it up down the hall and into the bathroom, the door closing on the sound of footsteps on the stairs as he rips off his clothes and hops into the shower. The water beats down freezing cold before it goes hot and Michael sinks against the wall. He thanks his lucky stars that Ashton is out for the day as a groan sticks in his throat when his fingers wrap around his wet dick.

Fuck Luke and his fucking popsicle, Michael curses when his thumb brushes across his slit, fuck him and his stupid red mouth.

A moan tumbles out of his mouth as the image of Luke’s hollowed cheeks burns behind his eyelids.

He wasn’t going to last very long. Not after the worst fifteen minutes of sitting around, hard and close to leaking, with Luke doing unspeakable things opposite him.

His thighs tremble, imagining Luke with his mouth wrapped around his dick, his tongue pressing along the vein underneath and he shudders as his fingers follow the motion, groaning. His teeth sink into his lip.

 _Jesus._ He’s really not going to last.

The shower is drumming against his head and heat boils in his stomach, tightening in that tell-tale way, and Michael thrashes, his hand flying over his cock as a thick moan echoes around the bathroom.

His brain thinks it’s funny because a gasped imitation of Luke’s voice panting Michael’s name rings in his ears and he can’t help it as he chokes out a strangled version of Luke’s name and comes all over his hand.

He sags against the tiles, legs shivery and stomach warm, that glow-y liquid feeling unfurling through his body even as a flicker of shame licks at the edges of his mind. The heat of the water washes away any traces of Michael’s guilt and he breathes out long and slow.

“Fuck _,”_ he rasps quietly, turning his face up into the stream of water, “ _Fuck_.”

He’s going to have serious words with Luke about not deep throating things when he’s around.

(He really isn’t, though, is he, because he values his dignity too much to give himself up this fast. The voice locked in the back of his mind scoffs and this time it sounds suspiciously like Calum, _Like he doesn’t already know with the way he’s been eating bananas lately._ He ignores it.)

 

*

 

Calum gloats for the next week as Michael trudges up and down twice with a double load of laundry.

“You know,” he hears as he stuffs his socks haphazardly into a drawer without balling them up, “You could just tell him to stop.”

Michael stops long enough to glare at Ashton before shoving the drawer closed with his hip and moving onto fold his shirts. Because telling Luke to stop would be admitting that it was getting to him. And Michael doesn’t _do_ confessions.

“Jesus…” Ashton flops onto his bed with a considerably amused look, “I’ve never seen you actually fold your clothes before. One good thing came from all this.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “And it isn’t me,” he mutters under his breath even though he’s had to get himself off more than usual in the shower but it doesn’t count, not really, because those are out of pure frustrated need rather than actual welcomed pleasure.

“Michael, honestly bro, just _tell_ him.”

When he doesn’t reply, a balled up shirt hits him in the back of the head. Ashton laughs cheerfully. “You know he knows already, right? Like, he’s only been giving head to bananas and popsicles and chewing on pens when you’re in the room?”

Michael freezes with his hands curled over the edge of the drawer.

“What,” Ashton mocks, “You thought he was doing that to all of us? I’m not the one who announced that he was bisexual in the middle of a conversation about sex, mate.”

“That little piece of _shit,”_ He hisses, slamming the drawer closed and barely avoiding breaking his fingers, “That dirty, little, cheating fucker.”

Ashton’s laughter meets Michael when he turns around with a glare. He quirks an eyebrow. “Mike. You need to actually use _words._ It’s _Luke,_ for fuck’s sake, you two know more about each other than you know about yourselves and frankly, it’s disturbing.” Ashton shudders. “Like, I didn’t ever need to know about the way you like getting blown, no matter _how_ drunk you were. That amount of detail was just unnecessary.”

Michael goes to retort and stops short. What. _What._

“Say that again,” he asks slowly, “Whatever you just said, say it again.”

Ashton raises an eyebrow and repeats himself.

Michael suddenly feels weak and drops himself down next to Ashton, dropping his face into his hands. “Shit.”

He remembers the way Luke had taken in the popsicle last week, with his tongue pressing along the underside, dragging his lip along the length of it before sucking on the top and he suppresses a shiver and groans again.

“He’s just fucking with me,” Michael says after dragging in a breath. “He’s such a fucking moron.”

“Are you telling me that Luke’s blowing those things like the way you said you want to be blown?” Ashton asks in a choked voice, landing somewhere between sympathetic, amused and horrified. When Michael nods, Ashton rubs a hand down his face and sighs. “Oh boy.”

 _Oh boy,_ indeed.

 

*

 

“Maybe you should get back at him,” Calum murmurs sleepily one night when the two of them are drifting off after a Jurassic Park marathon.

Michael blinks slowly, rubbing his eyes and yawning as he tries to speak. “What?”

“Luke,” Calum clarifies as he snuggles into the bed, “Get,” he yawns wide and lion-like, before rubbing his eyes like an adorable kitten that Michael wants to pet, “Get back at Luke for the…the blowjob thing.”

 _Oh. That_ thing.

Michael perks up, grinning as he stretches out on his side. “Best idea you’ve had all day.”

Calum snorts, reaching out to punch him but his hand lands flat and open on Michael’s ribs and he just sighs tiredly and uses what seems like the last of his strength to cuddle into Michael’s side.

He chuckles quietly and tucks Calum against him and closes his eyes.

“Hate you,” Calum mumbles.

“Yeah, ‘course.” Michael pushes his face into Calum’s neck and lets sleep pull them both into its silent embrace.

 

*

 

Ashton and Calum are out, gallivanting somewhere out in LA, when Michael finally has a chance to carry out his retribution.

Luke is waiting for him out near the pool under the shade of the umbrella, sunglasses perched on his face and phone in his hand. Michael hides a smirk and drops the beer into Luke’s hand and settles on the outdoor sofa across from him, clearing his throat noisily for the sake of getting attention and slides his lips over the top of the lime popsicle.

It’s bittersweet and freezing on his tongue and he’d be lying if he says he doesn’t enjoy it because it actually does taste good.

He licks along the length of it, making an unnecessary sound in his throat, and sucks it back into his mouth, eyes drooping as he watches Luke tense, fingers tightening around his phone.

_Gotcha._

Michael forces down the grin aching in his cheeks and makes another sound, sucking sloppily on the popsicle, feeling a dribble of melting lemon ice slipping out of the corner of his mouth. He wipes it off with his thumb and brings it to his mouth, licking it off with an wet, lewd sound.

Luke shuffles, squaring his shoulders, jaw clicking and Michael licks up the popsicle feeling a little more than smug. _Serves you right, Hemmings._

What Michael is not ready for is Luke suddenly being on his feet, his phone clattering onto the glass of the coffee table. He yanks off his sunglasses and they meet the same fate as his phone.

“I fucking hate you,” Luke hisses, blue eyes dark and wild as he grabs the popsicle from Michael’s hand and tosses it over his shoulder before presses his mouth to Michael’s open one.

Michael freezes for a solid second, eyes widening before a surge of heat flows through him and he grabs the back of Luke’s head and his arm and pulls him on top of him. Luke falls, settling between Michael’s thighs, and curls his hand around Michael’s ribs, and their eyes catch as they break apart, Luke blinks, breathing heavy and whatever it is that’s surrounding the two of them, it snaps.

His heart his beating so hard Michael’s sure it’s going to jump out of his ribcage when he pushes up and they’re kissing, Luke’s hands pushing Michael’s shirt up around his armpits and Michael’s curled around Luke’s jaw when their tongues slide in burning strokes across each other.

It’s funny, because all this was supposed to just give Luke a taste of his own medicine and now he’s gone from zero to wanting Luke so bad his head is spinning. Luke’s biting at his lip, tugging on it and then pressing back in, licking into Michael mouth as his hand slide down between Michael and the sofa, getting to Michael’s arse and squeezing and Michael groans into the wet heat of Luke’s mouth.

He can feel Luke against his thigh, hard in his board shorts, and he rocks up, choking back a sound when his dick rubs along Luke’s stomach.

“Fuck,” he pants against Luke’s cheek, the mouths separating with a slick sound, “Shit.”

 _“Michael,”_ Luke groans and he grinds down, twisting his hips in a way that their clothed cocks slide together and Michael sinks his teeth into Luke’s neck because _fuck,_ he needs to hear that again. He’s never going to get tired of Luke saying his name like that, _fuck,_ like, ever.

He sucks a mark into the pale skin at the base of Luke’s throat, biting and licking until Luke’s groaning messily above him, rutting against him without abandon.

Michael leans up, his brain cloudy with need, and catches Luke’s mouth, and kissing him hard, wild with the feeling of Luke against him because _shit,_ he’s done this before but rubbing off on someone hasn’t felt this good _ever_ and he feels crazy, palming Luke’s back, pushing him down against him as he arches up and he pants wetly into Luke’s mouth, groaning when Luke twists fingers into his hair and tugs.

“Shit, Michael,” he moans, “Michael, _Michael.”_

His stomach is tightening and he’s so fucking close and Luke’s mouthing along his jaw, groaning in his ear, sucking on his ear lobe and Michael’s going to lose his mind.

“Mikey,” Luke rasps right into his ear, grinding down hard and fast, “Fuck, c’mon, fuck me.”

And he loses it. It’s desperate and sloppy and hot and the words smoulder down straight to his dick and he comes, his mouth pressed into Luke’s neck, right over his thundering pulse.

A shout rips out of him and he shudders in Luke’s arms, throwing his head back as the wetness soaks through the material of his shorts.

Luke whines, rocking down wildly, and Michael reaches between them, getting his hand around Luke and squeezing, rubbing him through his shorts.

“Shit,” he groans, “Fuck. Come on. _Come on.”_

Luke freezes, a broken moan tumbling out of his mouth, and his dick twitches in Michael’s hands as he comes.

He collapsed in a sweaty heap on top of Michael, gasping.

Michael reaches up, tangling his fingers into Luke’s hair and pulls him into a kiss because fuck, try and stop him.

Luke kisses back, slow and deep, and Michael feels it in his toes.

“You’re an idiot,” Michael whispers when they pull apart to stare at each other, half sheepish, half smug. “Seriously, I hate you. Fuck you.”

“You just did,” Luke says with a fucked out grin and reaches to pat Michael’s dick like he’s saying thank you.

Michael twitches, biting Luke’s jaw. “Shut up, you arsehole. You’re ridiculous. You only love me for my black hair.”

“Nah, love all of you. The black hair is just really hot,” Luke stretches his neck backward, giving Michael space as he brushes his lips down to Luke’s pulse and sighs, “and besides, you love me. And my arsehole is only up for discussion if you plan to do something with it.”

He hides his face in Luke’s shoulder and groans as his dick twitches with interest. “Don’t talk like that.”

“What, like I want you to push me up against the shower wall and fuck me till I scream your name? That I want you to take me to bed and be so loud that Ashton and Calum bang on the door to tell us to stop?”

Michael shudders, a moan vibrating against Luke’s pulse. “ _God_.”

“Nah, just Luke is fine.”

He bites down on the pulse beneath his mouth at that—why is he in love with an idiot—making Luke jolt into him. They both groan.

“Unless you plan on making good on those words, shut the fuck up.”

Luke grins, kissing the corner of Michael’s mouth. “Shower with me and you’ll find out.”

Michael’s never run up the stairs that fast in his life.

 

*

 

By the time the other half of their band get home, it’s late and Michael has Luke curled up in front of him on the couch, grinning unashamedly into Luke’s shoulder as they watch some random movie.

He’s literally not stopped smiling since they’d rolled off each other, panting and wrecked and sensitive as hell. It’s a sin against everything he’s made his image into but he’s letting it slide because it’s Luke and he loves him.

“Oh, thank god.”

“Fucking finally.”

Michael’s head snaps up and he has no time to school his face expressionless or into something less _manically happy_ before Ashton and Calum are smirking at him.

Luke groans and drops his head. “Shut up. You two are ruining the mood.”

“What mood would that be, Lucas?” Ashton asks, plopping into an armchair. The look on his face is knowing and Michael feels like punching him.

“The one you are currently ruining by fucking around here,” Luke mutters but Michael sees the tail end of his smile as a dimple folds into his cheek.

Calum snorts as he leans against Ashton’s chair. “You two look like you’ve done plenty of that already.”

“Calum,” Michael says with a sweet smile, “If you don’t leave, the next place we’ll be having sex is in your bed.”

“Honestly.” Ashton says over Calum’s groans of disgust. “We’re happy for you two.”

“Yeah, happy that you’ll finally stop with the bananas and the popsicles and let us live in peace.”

Luke shuffles, sheepishly throwing a over his shoulder and Michael just grins, squeezing him around the middle and presses his mouth to Luke’s bare shoulder.

“Maybe you should just admit that you found it hot, bro.”

And Michael knows, with those eleven words, that he wants to keep Luke forever.

“ _I did not!”_

“Sure you didn’t.”

“Fuck you guys, I’m leaving.”

“Good, ‘cos we don’t want you here.”

“I hate you.”

Ashton closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. “I hate this band.”

**Author's Note:**

> So...I'd like to know how I did *grins sheepishly*
> 
> Thanks for reading and comments would be so loved ^_^
> 
> My tumblr is aneverendingreplay ^_^ Come say hi!


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